


Les Amuse-Bouches

by LaChatteNoire



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, M/M, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-29 12:11:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaChatteNoire/pseuds/LaChatteNoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly was ripe for taking. Irene only needed to reach her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All characters are at least sixteen.
> 
> As of yet not beta'd or brit-picked (anyone willing to help?)

Sweet little Molly was right where Irene knew to find her, bent over the microscope, gently twisting the fine knob, and holding her tongue between her lips in concentration.

Irene pulled at her heather-grey sweater again, stretching the V as low as it could possibly go. Molly was ripe for taking; she had been from the moment Irene saw her tailing Sherlock, eyes gleaming with adulation. After one too many rebuffs, she had briefly begun seeing Jim, and then he had dropped her once he realized that he could not use her to goad Sherlock. Emotionally shaken; needing physical comfort; needing to prove to herself, somebody, anybody, that others wanted her; that is where Irene stepped in.

After one final adjustment of her pleated skirt, it should be illegal to wear such a skirt so temptingly, Irene sauntered into the classroom.

“Well, now.” Molly looked up, startled. “What’s keeping you in here on this evening?”

“Uh—Irene! Hello...samples. Um, professor Stamford, after he saw my interest…” As Molly stumbled for a coherent sentence, Irene had seated herself onto the stool next to Molly, almost straddling it. Irene pushed her arms closer together, knowing that it was pushing her breasts out further and that Molly was staring.

“Forget about them for the day.” Irene swept her fingers over Molly’s hand—the only piece of exposed skin of the nun-like outfit that the other student wore. “Let’s go out. Tonight. I know you don’t have plans, and your parents won’t object.”

Molly had difficulty swallowing.

Irene was one of the three special students that the school had welcomed through an arcane exchange program. When they were introduced in her biology class, she noticed their ethereally pale skin and rich dark hair, which made their eyes even more striking. They had stunning intellect, and almost no sense of politeness. Professors Donovan and Anderson had taken a particularly vitriolic dislike to them, and the department head Lestrade—with whom Molly had always felt an avuncular bond—was both astounded by and guarded with them.

Jim and Sherlock had found friends, or the closest thing they could manage to one, relatively quickly. John Watson, star player of the rugby team who was still recovering from a shoulder injury sustained last season, and one of Professor Donovan’s prized students, seemed completely taken by Sherlock Holmes and almost vice versa from the moment Professor Stamford had paired them for an experiment.

Despite others’ attempts to warn guileless, sheltered Jim, he had been seen with alarming frequency around Sebastian Moran. Everyone at the school whispered of how manipulative and callous Sebastian was to take advantage of Jim. But, based on the way Molly had caught them last week, Sebastian crushing Jim against the gymnasium wall with Jim ferociously biting and scratching, moaning and growling, nothing gentle but mutually exploitative, she seriously doubted that the Submissive and the Bad Boy were actually who everyone thought they were.

Curiously, Irene was the one who was always alone, despite her flock of admirers who hung onto her every word and were titillated by the opportunity to sit near her. She seemed to have a tepid rapport with another girl, Kate, but they did not even give off a familiarity with each other that Molly always saw with close friendships. Why was Irene so…interested…in her?

“Come.” Irene drew circles around the back of Molly’s hand, dipping her thumb into the cuff of Molly’s shirt to graze at the pulse point. “I know you want to.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Of course Irene had a chauffeured car, Molly thought upon seeing it parked in the driveway. Irene coaxed Molly to climb in with the palm of her hand against the dimples of Molly’s lower back.

Tentatively, Molly glanced over at her companion; right ankle crossed over her left knee, pale inner thigh exposed in a slit between black stocking and skirt. To call Irene a “girl,” as Molly had heard by admirers and decriers alike, is an injustice. No girl could awaken people’s sensuality with simply a slow, erotic strut down the hallway between classes or a sly and promising glance haphazardly thrown their way as Irene did. And those lips, soft and red and now so close…

_Your lips are like wine and I want to get drunk._

In retrospect, Molly had been wanting to since their first meeting, the day the intrigue began.

She was crying again, unsurprisingly due to Sherlock. It was stupid, really, to think that he would notice her and be nice to her if she just put on lipstick…and changed her hair…and wore a brand new dress that had cost her nearly three weeks’ worth of cleaning up and organizing the science classrooms’ inventory.

Angrily, she swiped her hands across her lips, streaking her cheeks and chin. How abject and desperate she must have looked, perpetually chasing after Sherlock—and people even had the nerve to accuse _her_ of using Jim after _he_ had dumped her. She had the fortune of being closer to Sherlock than others, they were lab partners for a class, and perhaps that was all they would ever be. The thought made her cry harder; what if she had been so oblivious to Sherlock’s disinterest that he resorted to being so nasty because of her?

Stilettos clicked against the tile, and stopped next to her. Only one person had the poise to wear heels to school.

“He never learns.” Irene sighed, holding up a wet handkerchief. At that time, before John came back to school, Irene served as Sherlock’s handler.

Molly flinched when she felt Irene’s fingers on her jaw.

The woman, as Molly called her from then on, held firm and gently began dabbing away the smears of lipstick, meandering slowly across skin. The handkerchief was saturated with Irene’s scent of carnal promises: as the wet fabric brushed over her lips, Molly shivered at the touch.  

Irene placed the handkerchief over the sink and took out a small case of balm. Coating the tip of her index finger, she slowly traced the fullest parts of Molly’s lips.

“Your lips are beautifully shaped.” Irene remarked, leaning in to concentrate her efforts, “Perfect for kissing.”

_So are yours._ Molly felt lightheaded, unable to take her eyes off of Irene. The firm brush of warm fingers against lips and the sight of Irene’s tongue peeking through the crevice made her body palpitate. Irene pulled away momentarily to open another small container and dab a stiff brush into the vermillion solid.

“The lipstick you chose is a little too orange for your skin tone; you have more of a cooled tone. Darker shades compliment you better.” With the same lightness, Irene began swiping the brush across the bow of Molly’s lips. They stood much too closely, breath tickling cheek and electricity sweeping through their bodies.

Kiss me…

“May I kiss you?” Irene’s sultry whisper broke Molly out of her reverie. Molly turned to face Irene, their noses bumped. Her beautiful eyes had turned dark from longing, her lips trembled.

Molly leaned a centimeter forward and pressed her lips to Irene’s, her “yes” whispered against Irene’s mouth. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> This is a project that I've undertaken, experimenting with and developing my style of erotic writing, as well as exploring some fetishes. I challenge myself to not write in cliches, or to describe the acts and sensations in different ways, playing with words and how they sound in conjunction with one another. 
> 
>  
> 
> Why Molly and Irene? Why NOT Molly and Irene? 
> 
>  
> 
> Plot-wise, this story may not be very fulfilling for you if you're looking for literature-grade AU fiction with all of the details thought down to their minutiae, and an overarching, cohesive grand-scheme-of-things. This is gratuitous smut; read as you wish to and at your own discretion.


End file.
